


The Great Intriguante

by Zara Hemla (zarahemla)



Category: The Grand Sophy - Georgette Heyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-14
Updated: 2007-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahemla/pseuds/Zara%20Hemla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The horses trotted on, their breaths steaming into the wind, and Sophy was going to marry him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Intriguante

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fearlessfan

 

 

 

 

**one. in Amabel's bedroom.**

"Tell us about the time you were lost in the Pyrenees..." Amabel said sleepily, and turned her head on the pillow as if trying to find a cool spot. Sophy obligingly began telling the story, and Charles watched them both, feeling as if someone had planted him a facer.

She had stayed - Sophy had stayed and given up balls and given up parties and laughed at him when he brought up her missed engagements. For a week, she had not even come down for dinner; her every thought had been for Amabel. She coaxed and teased and never lost her temper or complained, no matter how irritating Amabel became. And she had kept Hubert's secret; not only that, she had kept it with honor. Not for Sophy society's tattleboxing and gossip; she simply did what she had to do, and she did it cheerfully and without prosing on forever about it.

In that moment, Charles looked down the long road of his life. He would be the staid husband - Eugenia, the petulant wife. She would dig at him and pick away at his faults and one day he would lose his temper, and Eugenia would not laugh at him, no, not like Sophy did. She would cry, or frostily inform him that he needed to conduct himself like a gentleman. She would always want him to be perfectly conducted - and if he made a mistake? Would she run to her mother?

Charles imagined Lady Wraxton lecturing him on his faults with Eugenia hovering smugly in the background. He imagined long lectures on his behavior, and a life without genuine laughter - without that gurgle of laughter that was Sophy's own. For Sophy would marry someone else - someone like Charlbury. No man could fail to notice all her fine qualities, her beauty and wit and intelligence.

"And then my father noticed a beautiful plant by the side of the road. It was purple and the flowers looked like bells. He picked it and handed it up to me as I rode along. I imagined that if I shook the little purple bells, the fairies would come and grant me a wish...." Sophy's voice trailed off, and Charles realized that Amabel was asleep, and that he was staring at Sophy, and probably had been for some time. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he stood up hastily, embarrassed, and let himself out the door. He had almost taken her hand! But he could not, for he was engaged, and he had nothing to offer Sophy, not even a touch or a word.

He slept not at all and in the morning went to his club. He avoided Wychbold and anyone else who knew him well enough to see that he was off his axis. He sat near the dining room in a chair facing the fireplace and he did not know what to think. He dared not think. There was nothing to think about.

In the dining room, forks clinked on china and the low murmur of conversation resolved itself into Sophy's voice, telling a story: maybe one day to her own son or daughter. "I turned around and would you believe the sight! The donkey was eating my bonnet! I screamed and tried to tear it away...." Charles sank deeper into the chair and tried in vain to disappear.

**two. on the road from Lacy.**

As he dragged her out of Lacy Manor, Charles could not decide whether to tie her to a convenient tree and whip her, or sweep her behind the curricle and kiss her senseless. She was desperately trying to put on Cecy's bonnet, which was slightly too small, and therefore dragged her heels so much that eventually he had to stop and let her tie the blue ribbons. When she finished, she brushed his hand off her arm and climbed into the curricle herself. Charles ground his teeth and climbed up after her.

"I realize you are very angry at me, Charles," she said airily, "but it all turned out for the best, did it not?" The wind whipped over her and played havoc with her bonnet, and she was going to marry him. The horses were baulking a bit; that was because his hands were shaking. He steadied them and the horses began to measure their pace.

"What was all the point of this scheming?" he asked, as pleasantly as he could. "Entertainment after so long a confinement with my sister?"

"Oh. Oh no," she said. "To have Cecy and you come out to Lacy after us. Cecy would have been so overcome by Charlbury's injury that she admitted her love for him at once - and I must say that turned out well --"

"Injury? He was fine when I saw him last."

"Well," said Sophy, "if you must know, I shot him."

It was all Charles could do to keep his composure, and he managed as well as he could. "Of course you did. I'm sure it was all for the best."

"It _was_ all for the best! I grazed his arm with my pistol. It was all I could think of. His injury would worry Cecy excessively, and it would also keep you --" She looked at him sideways, then let out a breath. "Would keep you from _milling him down_ , as the saying goes."

"Is there any more boxing cant you wish to elaborate on?" asked Charles, torn between admiration and shock. Did the woman never stop scheming? Doubt assailed him for a moment - she was so quixotic, one could never tell what she was going to do next. Then she smiled prettily, and tucked her arm through his, and he put an arm around her. Truly, Sophy wouldn't be Sophy unless she were expounding some fearfully mad idea.

"I'm glad it's not raining, but the wind does chill one so. No, I learned that from Hubert, and a few more too, but I shan't assault your delicate ears."

"My what?" rejoindered Charles absently, focussed on her warm body pressed against his side. "Sophy, I cannot believe the depth of your schemes. Where did you get so much experience in plots and intrigues?"

"I don't know," said Sophy reflectively. "I always thought it was from my mother, for Sir Horace is a great traveler and politico, but he is very straightforward, you know. I used to tell a story to myself, that my mother was a beautiful French spy, and she and Sir Horace were passionately in love and married in secret, and then after she had me she was called back to her country again. But I know it isn't true. She was only Lady Stanton-Lacy, I suppose, but she must have taught me to plot in my cradle."

Charles thought of a baby Sophy, perhaps plotting to get into the biscuit jar, and laughed aloud.

"Charles?" she said. He looked down at her and saw she was smiling too, smiling up at him, and he slowed the horses down to a sedate walk so that he could kiss her. When they finally began moving again, she had her head on his shoulder and even though vehicles were passing them, and they might be people he knew, he couldn't bring himself to tell her to be proper.

"I love you, Charles," she'd said, between kisses, and he'd had to acknowledge that he was, right then, the luckiest man alive.

"I love you too, Sophy dear," he had said, tracing the curve of her ear under the bonnet. The horses trotted on, their breaths steaming into the wind, and Sophy was going to marry him.

**three. back in London.**

"Father, I did everything I possibly could, but Sancia married Sir Vincent Talgarth!" Sophy cried, after she gave her father a hug. Windblown as she was, she seemed in very good spirits - she had not asked to take the reins from Charles, for once, and he had not offered, but they had entertained themselves with an argument about whether the two of them would travel to the Continent after they were married. Though they had not agreed, Sophy had high hopes.

Sir Horace embraced his daughter, thumped her twice on the back, and stepped back. "You're looking fine as fivepence, my girl, and I've heard about your horses as well. You weren't gulled there!"

"Yes papa, it was the only good thing that Sir Vincent did for me. And then he and Sancia - well! It didn't go according to plan."

"No matter, my dear, no matter." To all observers, it was plain to see that Sir Horace looked rather relieved. "Perhaps my hectic life would have been too much for her. I don't plan to stay in England too long - I can't leave the colonies to fend for themselves! No, I will return again to try to set things to rights."

"But papa, not so soon!" cried Sophy, untying her bonnet and flinging it on a chair. "You see, Charles and I --" She looked around for Charles, and he stepped forward, and she took his hand. "We are going to be married."

"Upon my word!" Sir Horace looked slightly stunned. "Why, Sophy ... well, if you say so ... devil take it, wasn't Rivenhall going to marry the Wraxton girl?"

"Yes he was, papa, but I worked it all out and now I'm sure that Eugenia will make a great match with Lord Bromford. She is tending him right now in his illness."

"Oh indeed?" said Lady Ombersley icily. "When she wouldn't set foot in our house while Amabel was ill?"

"In all fairness, Lord Bromford only has a cold," interpolated Charles. "However, she informed me that we would no longer suit. So I was at liberty, sir, to ask Sophy if she would do me the honor of becoming my wife."

"Yes," said Sophy, "and I must run up at once to tell Hubert and Amabel and Cecy. Do you think, Lady Ombersley, that Cecy and I should have a double wedding?"

"Oh Sophy!" said Lady Ombersley, beaming. "Cecy and Charlbury! A thousand thanks to you, though I don't know how you brought it about!"

"Scheming is her life's work," Charles said helpfully. Sir Horace laughed, his mother gave him an irritated look, but Sophy simply looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow.

"Cecy is so happy," continued Lady Ombersley, "and neither of us can thank you enough. Yes, I'm sure a double wedding would be lovely! We can hold it at Ombersley, with flowers everywhere! And both of you in satin dresses with flowing veils, and pheasant and cream soup for the feast, and Chantillies and champagne...."

"And we shall not invite above six hundred people," said Sophy, casting a wicked glance at Charles. "And Augustus Fawnhope can read the poem he wrote to me. What was it called? _To Sophia, Holding A Lamp_?"

"May I ask who will be footing the bill for this grand to-do?" asked Charles, trying for his usual tone of forbidding gloom and, judging by the happy look his mother was giving him, failing miserably.

"My dear," said Sophy, taking his arm and smiling up at him with that dear Sophy smile, "we shall begin as we mean to go on - so we will do it together."

\--the end--

notes:

* The word "intrigante," meaning a female who engages in intrigues, is misspelled as "intriguante" in the novel, so I have chosen to keep it that way.

* The purple flower that Sophy talks about in her story is the digitalis (foxglove) and can be viewed at http://www.henrik-ks.dk/billeder/Flowers/PyreneesFlowers_01.htm

 


End file.
